When I was too young to remember, my grandmother had a serious growth that came out right under her right nostril. My grandmother was a very very fair complected woman and this growth was darker colored and you know what it looked like. That's right, like she was in real need of a tissue. Many people would look at her and focus on her nostril and not so much on what she was saying. When the growth started to get a bit larger my grandmother decided to seek medical help. While the doctor did not think the growth was life threatening he did tell my grandmother that she should have it removed. His only reservation was that it would leave a large scar and he could not guarantee it would not return.
My grandmother was concerned and a bit vain. The thought of having the attention drawn to her nostril eradicated was tempting, yet to take away one attention-drawing growth to replace it with an attention-drawing scar seemed pretty much like a lateral move.
She was a good friend with my Aunt Rosie. To tell the truth Aunt Rosie was her friend first. Often when, as I mentioned before, my Aunt Rosie would make a day trip, mini-pilgrimage to the San Antonio Mission in Jolon California, she and her husband would take along my widowed grandmother.
When my grandmother returned from the doctor rather disillusioned she shared her tale of woe with my Aunt Rosie. Aunt Rosie told her that she was planning a trip to the San Antonio Mission soon and that my grandmother should go so as to make an appeal to the great wonder-working Saint of Padua. On the next Sunday, my aunt, her husband and my grandmother headed for the Mission in his old Ford truck which was, and is, a classic (the kind that is purchased new and kept pristine forever).
Now, in order for anyone to understand the magnitude of the events that followed, they would have to have known my grandmother. She was a simple woman who would trip or stumble with the slightest change of surface. She was the type of woman that fainted when she was surprised and would get a bloody nose with any change of temperature or altitude. She was also rather Rubinesque yet frail.
As the three arrived at the Mission they went immediately to the Church to pray and light candles all the time asking the prayers of St. Anthony. My grandmother in a moment of penance and a bit desperate decided to kneel on the rough brick steps of the rustic Communion rail and when she did she lost her balance and fell. She took quite a tumble and when my aunt and her husband went to her rescue they were so worried because her face was covered with blood.
My Aunt would later relate that she thought my grandmother had died or at the very least had broken her nose. My grandmother sat up and reached in to her Buick of a patten leather purse for her arsenal of tissue and when she had blotted... realized she was fine. She had not broken her nose. From where had all the blood come? They could not find its source until they realized that my grandmother no longer had her growth. With the precision of a surgeon "not of this world" she had been relieved of this burden and faith triumphed once more.
As a rather wonderful epilogue to the story, my grandmother did return to the doctor that week and he said that no surgeon could have done the job with such alacrity and precision. There was never a scar nor did it ever return! My grandmother knew that God had heard the prayers of her dear advocate St. Anthony along with her own. She had received what we have always thought was a signal grace and my aunt's faith in the prayers of St. Anthony were well placed.
Pray the prayer to the right with faith and you too will receive signal graces. I have posted a picture of the Mission Church and to the bottom left of the Communion rail is where all this happened.
St. Anthony of Padua, pray for us.
Mark
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